Deep Night Chase

Under the pitch-black night, a chase scene—commonplace yet beloved by the citizens of New York—was currently unfolding.

Nighttime is the carnival hour for street racers and biker gangs.

On the streets of New York, the roar of engines from two modified cars echoed through the sky. Their oversized speakers blared deafening, high-energy music, while the drivers inside shrieked with wild, fanatical abandon, swaying to the beat or leaning out of their windows to hurl shrill taunts at the traffic police trailing behind them.

"Calling headquarters, calling headquarters! A group of street racers is heading toward the city center. Please set up an interception net. I am currently..."

A young traffic cop pursued the two racers relentlessly on his police motorcycle, his mouth never leaving the radio on his chest as he reported their route.

However, halfway through his sentence, the young officer froze, and his motorcycle screeched to a sudden halt.

"Hey, 73104, what are you doing? Why did you stop talking?" a voice crackled over the radio.

"I think I'm hallucinating. I just saw a streak of yellow light fly past..."

The young officer looked bewildered, rubbing his eyes vigorously.

"Hahahaha! Trying to catch my baby with a piece-of-junk motorcycle? You deserve nothing but exhaust fumes!"

Inside one of the two modified cars, Tom Cruise laughed wildly. He cranked the volume of his car stereo up a few notches before picking up the radio and shouting, "Hey, Reed, you kid! Are you even capable? I think you should just hand over that thousand dollars now!"

"Bullshit! You think I'll lose to you? I'll overtake you at the next turn. Just wait to pay up, or go home and wash your ass while you wait for me!"

A defiant roar came from the other end of the radio from Reed.

"Pfft~"

Tom Cruise scoffed in disdain. This kid, who didn't even qualify as an amateur, was far too arrogant. He was a retired professional racer; he could beat trash like this with one hand tied behind his back. If it weren't for the fact that the brat's family had some money, he wouldn't even bother competing with him.

"Looks like it's time to show this kid what real technique is."

Tom Cruise sneered, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The car roared like a wild horse breaking its reins, leaving the vehicle behind in the dust by hundreds of meters in the blink of an eye.

"Tom!"

Reed's voice came over the radio, filled with shock, which only made Tom Cruise feel even more smug.

"What, want to concede now? Conceding is fine, but the bet money we agreed on won't be a cent less!"

"No, I just saw a streak of yellow light fly past! It was so fast! It might have been a car!"

"Heh, fast as light in these road conditions? I'm afraid you haven't even..."

Tom Cruise instinctively mocked the other's ignorance, but he soon froze.

Light! There really was light!

Relying on the dynamic vision he had honed from years of racing, he saw it even more clearly than Reed.

It was a car—a yellow sports car.

And the so-called "streak of light" was simply the lingering afterimage left behind by the vehicle as it tore through the air.

With just a fleeting glance from the corner of his eye, he felt he had already been conquered, captivated by the unparalleled charm of that behemoth.

The never-before-seen, sleek, cool body, the blood-pumping roar of the engine, and that unmatched speed—it pushed the allure of a sports car to the absolute limit.

"My car isn't so easy to overtake!"

His own car began to accelerate as well.

He had to find out where that car was bought, or who had modified it!

Nursing a fierce determination in his heart, Tom Cruise pushed himself to his peak state, driving the car he once treasured but now considered a mere scrap of metal as he gave chase at top speed.

However, the reality was despairing.

In the past, others were always left breathing his exhaust, but now he was the one being left far behind. Forget breathing exhaust—the car's shadow had already vanished from his sight; there wasn't even any exhaust left to inhale.

On the other side, Li Si was naturally unaware that he had inadvertently crushed the confidence of two street racers. Having completed a wide loop around New York at high speed, he pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of the Osir Tower.

"Ugh..."

As soon as the car stopped, Max scrambled to push the door open and tumbled out, leaning against a nearby lamppost to vomit uncontrollably.

"Li... I am never riding in your car again!"

After retching for a long while, Max looked deathly pale, staring at Li Si in the driver's seat of Bumblebee as if he were a prehistoric monster.

"..."

"It was just a bit of speed, was it really that bad..."

Li Si looked at him speechlessly, stepped out of the car feeling refreshed, and led Max into the Osir Tower with practiced ease.

After finally catching his breath, Max looked around in confusion: "Li, why are we here?"

"Nothing much, just here to look around."

Li Si smiled and pushed open the doors to the underground garage. Even though it was already night, there were still plenty of players inside, and the sounds of various hawkers filled the air.

Upon hearing what the players were selling, Max's mouth fell open and his eyes widened: "This place... could it be the legendary black market?"

"...Just take it as that!"

Li Si did not know how to explain the existence of the players, so he opened his mouth, but in the end, he did not provide a specific explanation.

At this moment, the players inside had already noticed Li Si.

"It's the profiteer! The profiteer is back!"

"I promise I won't buy his boxes this time. Boycott the profiteer, boycott pay-to-win loot boxes!"

"That's right, I won't buy them either. I'd rather save up enough money to buy gear directly than open his boxes."

Just by seeing that familiar figure, countless players recalled the fear of having their pockets controlled by the profiteer, and they all began to shout indignantly.

"Tch, 'boycott loot boxes'—even if you wanted to open them, I wouldn't sell them to you. A bunch of paupers with pockets cleaner than your faces!"

Li Si curled his lip in disdain and simply ignored the players who were protesting and boycotting him.

"Li, did you sell fake goods here? Why are they all calling you a profiteer?"

Max, who was looking around left and right like a country bumpkin entering the city, asked curiously.

"...No!"

Li Si's face twitched unnaturally, and he then decisively pointed at the items on the players' stalls to divert Max's attention.